Tony: Rushton 3rd and 1st person narratives

[set in 1955 - the Rushtons are staying at the house of Jolyon, Rushton's brother-in-law]

3rd person

Jolyon’s voice simpered on in the adjoining room.  Pamela was asleep upstairs.  Rushton lowered himself into a capacious armchair.  He sat back and sipped a glass of water.  The aspirin were beginning to work.  His headache was beginning to ease.  A sense of expansive relaxation was suggesting itself to him.  He looked around the lounge for some outlet for his thoughts.

Jolyon’s record-player sat there beside him: large, squat and glossy.  Rushton glanced at the record on the turntable – Chopin...

He pressed the switch indicated, and the needle dropped abruptly onto the record – a loud thump came from the speakers.  Lifting the nearby record cover to his eyes, he made out, in faded print, the very first item that would be played – but the music was already beginning, and he needed no prompting...

The Barcarolle!  That first, wistful, resigned declaration of the piano, as if announcing that here, if you cared to listen, the final response to all the questionings of the heart could be found – here you might find an answer to the unfulfilled hopes, the unresolved yearnings of the past...

He had last heard this music whilst waiting for the results of an examination to be posted up in the vast hall of a London medical college.  The midsummer day had been sweltering, and, through the open window, the sound of a piano had filtered into that echoing place, delicious as trickling water.  It seemed to announce that here, just now, the moment had come to enjoy the fruits of one’s labours.

Yes, he had passed the exam.  He had walked out through the swinging college doors, and hoped to hear that music again.  But no – like a bird it had flown, and he had to be content with the humid, fly-ridden heat of the wide London street.

How long ago that day now seemed!  He had taken a walking holiday in France with a student friend, but had become ill with pneumonia on his return, and had spent some time in a hospital on the South Downs.  Then, as if opening another book of the years, he had met Pamela...

The secret message of the music seemed almost clear – if he could only listen to it closely enough, he would know what it was that he had wanted all those years ago.  He could almost smell the polished floor of the college hall, almost hear the echoing steps of the students around him and their boisterous voices, and see the dust filtering through the sunbeams that shone through the open door of the Dean’s office.

He had walked through those swing doors a dozen years ago, and that music had evaded him, until now.  And still, as he sat here, he could only try to sift through the answers which those years had given to all his hopes and endeavours.

The door from Jolyon's hall opened, and Pamela, yawning, came in, as if in search of something.  She was surprised to see Rushton sitting there alone.

“Why are you here?” she asked.  “I thought you were coming upstairs to bed.”

“My head was bad.  I thought I would rest.”

“Not much chance of that here...  What a noise!”

“It’s Chopin – I’ll turn it off.”  The Barcarolle was over – a sturdy, indeed almost strident, Polonaise had begun.  Rushton leaned over and switched off the record-player, knocking his glass of water onto the carpet in the process.

“Oh dear...”  He sat back with a sigh.

“Have I disturbed you?”  Pamela pursed her lips and turned to go.  Her gait was deliberate (for she was expecting their first child) and her footsteps heavy.

Rushton rose from his chair.  “Where do all our dreams go?”

“Sorry, dear?”

“I was just reminiscing...  I’ll just get a cloth, and then be right up.”  He walked towards the kitchen door, fingering his chin slowly.

1st Person (ie Rushton himself!)

To recall the past!  It is only rarely in my experience that an unexpected memory returns.  I remember one occasion, when we were staying at Jolyon’s, a few weeks before Stephen was born.  I’d had a bad headache most of the day.  Jolyon, to give him credit, didn’t expect too much of me – in fact he spent most of the time lecturing the others about his new movie camera.

Pamela was tired – she had gone to bed early.  By luck I had some aspirin with me, and by the time I was thinking of retiring to bed myself, the headache was beginning to ease.

Jolyon was still talking next door – his capacity for discourse never ceased to amaze me.  I sat down next to his record-player cabinet – a sumptuous affair with polished wooden panelling.  There was a record on the turntable, and leaning over I could make out the name of the composer – Chopin.  I pressed a button, and the needle went down – loudly, needless to say.  The record cover was nearby, and I lifted it up - but the music was already beginning, and I needed no prompting...

The Barcarolle!  For some reason, I had not heard this piece for many years, yet for a long time it had held a special significance for me.  Chopin was a favourite in my student days, and on a day when I was waiting for some exam results in the college hall, I had heard – of all things – the Barcarolle being played on a piano somewhere beyond the college windows, filtering in from the world outside.

I suppose that there are often times when there is the temptation to look for, and find, some message which will confirm you in your own thoughts and inclinations.  I was at a point in life when it seemed necessary to make use of all the work I had done, to find in the world beyond the college walls something which would make my life seem worthwhile.

Such idealism!  In the event, I went abroad to France with Leonard, who was taking a walking holiday in the Auvergne.  It was pleasant enough, but my health was fragile, and on my return to England I soon found myself in hospital, being treated for pneumonia.

So much for exploration!  I had more than enough time as a convalescent to consider my future – what future?  A career in medicine seemed obvious enough, but would it be enough to satisfy the longings which, for some reason, I still associated with that piece by Chopin?  This had become a sort of talisman to me, which I kept in a hidden corner of my memory.

Once out of hospital, I returned to a world which seemed less likely to offer any easy answers to whatever hopes I had.  In the midst of this uncertainty I was invited, one evening, to a college dance – a casual enough offer, yet it was there that I met Pamela.  So the journey of exploration, which I had been intent upon before, became, instead, a shared journey with her – a commitment to something which we might create, together.

My musings, as I sat in Jolyon's lounge, were cut short by Pamela's arrival.  How well she embodied the here and now!  She came in, looking tired, and was not a little concerned to find me apparently enjoying life without her.  It was time to go...